


Jasmine and Orange Blossom

by quantumoddity



Series: Widomauk Courtesan AU [9]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caduceus is a good cleric, Comfort/Angst, Courtesan AU, First Meetings, Gen, Mollymauk is a stressed single dad, Sick Character, Single Parents, Trans Male Character, Trans Mollymauk Tealeaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 04:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16569845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumoddity/pseuds/quantumoddity
Summary: Mollymauk finds himself in desperate need of a friend which leads him to one of the more unusual residents of Foamside-An earlier part of my Courtesan AU, sometime between Mollymauk arriving and Caleb returning





	Jasmine and Orange Blossom

An average of once every three steps, Mollymauk would ask himself what the hell he was doing.

The wind was a force unto itself, throwing itself against him so hard that he could feel the anger in it, howling and whipping the length of his robe around his legs, letting the rain slip underneath and turn everything below his waist stiff and shivering. Molly had pulled a scarf up around his horns to try and keep some of it off but still, it angled in and stung his eyes and made every breath and ragged gasp. Everything in front of his eyes was a grey blur, the beach and shore and horizon bleeding into one another, like wet ink staining paper, leaving him unable to grasp at how far he’d come and how far he had left to go.

Not that he really knew where he was heading. All the barmaid had been able to tell him was that it was somewhere at the edge of the headland, somewhere where the woods met the beach, up towards the mountains. Foamside sat in the middle of an open bowl, the valley cradling it while the mountains jutted up all around like the fingers of an enormous hand that was letting them all rest awhile on its palm but could choose to move again at any time and rise up, tipping them all into the waiting mouth of the sea. Molly had convinced himself that it couldn’t be all that hard to find.

But he hadn’t counted on just how difficult it would be to find a tiny shack in amongst tall trees, a wide beach and a raging, violent rainstorm.

So many times he asked himself what he was doing, that it was complete rank madness to be out here, fighting his way through weather that was so much bigger and stronger than him and seemed determined to pluck him off his feet and blow him right into the sea, simply for his arrogance.

But every time he asked himself, Trinket would stir in his arms. Molly had bundled him as tightly as he dared in the thickest blanket they had and pulled him inside his own coat, cradling him against his chest securely so he was spared at least some of the weather. But still Molly could hear his thick, raw coughing and miserable sniffling and wheezy, shallow breaths as his poor, sick little body tried to fight whatever illness had seized it. Molly had torn apart every book he had, he’d asked every single person in Foamside who had children of their own, he’d written to Marion and no one could figure out what was wrong with his son and nothing they’d suggested had helped. Hot baths would make his breathing a little easier but then his fever would skyrocket and not come back down until he pressed cold compressed to his forehead that brought his coughing right back. Basic medicines would stop the runniness in his eyes but five minutes later he would throw up and then they’d be back to square one. He wouldn’t feed, he wouldn’t sleep, he seemed to grow smaller and greyer every day. Looking at him sent a stabbing pain through Molly’s chest, a clawing, tearing desperation to do something to help his poor little Trinket.

So after the barmaid mentioned that there was a hermit artist who lived in a creaking, crumbling cottage at the edge of the beach who did some small dealings in plants and general botanical life and might have some small chance of helping him, Molly was willing to go as far as he needed to, through a storm of any size or strength to get there.

So the wind could howl and buck as much as it liked, Mollymauk was going to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Stopping on the fringe of the beach, where the scrub brush of the sand twisted and lengthened into full, tall swaying grass at the fringe of the forests, Molly pulled down his scarf and winced against the lashing rain, trying to get his bearings. He’d meant to walk a straight line along the shore but he was worried he’d gotten blown off to the left, that he’d hit the edge much too far along from where he was supposed to be. In his coat, Trinket woke from his fitful, slurring sleep and began to wail, as much as he could with his throat raw and aching, his cries a painful counterpoint to the snarling wind. Molly moved as far under the fringe trees as he could for cover and opened up his robe, trying to comfort him but his baby only cried harder, screwing up his face and screaming in a voice that sounded like a furnace with broken pipes.

Molly felt his throat going tight and tears prickling in his eyes that had nothing to do with the wind, when he suddenly stopped, catching a scent in his nose that hadn’t been there before.

Wood smoke. Petrichor. Tea.

Molly moved towards it almost instinctively, realising after a few paces what he was actually following.

It had been a bit scant of the barmaid to call it a shack. It was bigger than that, only one floor but still, it was a comfortable size, tucked away at the bottom of a natural slope in the ground, so it was almost entirely hidden from view if you were in the wrong place. It was made of wood, though stone ringed it’s foundations and the walls were all slightly different colours, even soaked as every inch of it was by the rain, suggesting regular renovations and last minute measures to keep it standing. The windows were all different colours of glass as well, each square of every pane a different hue, leading up to a tall but very thin pebbled chimney that exhaled smoke into the air. Though the patchwork element of the place wasn’t what first caught Molly’s attention and made him draw back ever so slightly.

The entire cottage was riddled with holes, ragged edged wounds, but from every single one burst such a fountain of green; leaves of every shape and size and colour, flowers large and small, familiar and alien. Though of course every single one was heavy and glistening with raindrops. It was like there was an entire arboretum contained inside the cottage that was straining and fighting to escape, a living kraken of plant life trying to wriggle its way free of a space that was much too small for it.

Molly hesitated, even in the pounding rain. It didn’t look like the kind of place a healer would live. It didn’t even really look like the kind of place any sane person would live.

But he really, really couldn’t see any other option.

There was a lantern hanging from the door frame, made of bottle green glass and lit, the flame inside flickering and shuddering, as unhappy in the rain as Mollymauk and Trinket. But the sight of it gave the tiefling enough bravery to rap on the door, having to throw his weight behind it to be heard over the weather.

It was a very, very long time before there was any kind of response, enough that Molly’s heart began to sink at the thought of the long walk back home. But then there was a click and a whine as a door that clearly didn’t get opened very often was pulled back.

Molly blinked in shock and found himself having to tilt his head way further up than he’d been expecting.

A firbolg stood in the doorway, nearly eight feet of long limbs and dusky rose fur loosely draped by a leaf green robe, with a long, kindly face, bright eyes that glowed in the lantern light and ears that seemed to flicker and twitch constantly. Long pink tresses of hair nearly reached the creature’s waist and under the robe, Molly could see the outline of ribs. Despite the size, there was no menace or threat, just a vague air of bemusement.

Reading people at a moment’s notice had been a huge part of Mollymauk’s job for as long as he could remember. And he immediately relaxed as soon as he looked the firbolg over.

“Oh,” the voice suggested a male, low and rumbling, “Hello.”

“Hi…” Molly blinked and shook himself, remembering the urgency that had brought him here, “I…I’m sorry, I know it’s late but the lady at the Nestled Nook said you might be able to help me. My son…he…he’s not well, nothing else has helped and he’s just getting worse.” Just saying it was difficult; Molly felt his throat begin to close and his voice to crack. Nearly two weeks’ worth of suppressed worry and fear and panic began to creep up on him.

“My friend, it’s okay…” the firbolg’s voice was low, carrying under the beating of the rain. He stepped aside to let Molly in, “Please, come get dry…”

Molly could only nod, lower lip wobbling, ducking under his arm. All while silently trying to work out what he was getting himself into.

One thing that didn’t surprise him about the interior of the cottage was how four fifths of the space was taken up by plant life. Molly had never seen so many examples of things leafy, flowering, fungus sprouting and root sprouting, spilling off every single surface. From tables onto the floor, weaving in between the beams of the ceiling, even crammed onto every single inch of a flight of stairs against the wall which confused Molly, as he was pretty sure the cottage had only appeared to have one storey from the outside. But beyond that, it looked rather cosy. Patchwork blankets that looked homemade lurked under all the pots and containers (Molly saw some specimens growing in old boots and teapots), a painted silk screen concealed what must have been a bedroom, a kettle was rattling on an ancient looking stove top spilling nicely scented steam into the space. There was a healthy hearth to bring the feeling back into Molly’s extremities. And, the tiefling noted with a burst of hope in his chest, there was a huge cabinet taking up the entirety of one wall- with the sleds slightly lopsided- but stuffed with small bottles, full of various liquids and powders. Medicines.

“I’m sorry…” he turned to the firbolg, who seemed rather unconcerned to have found a dripping, shivering tiefling and a baby on his doorstep late into the night and was simply moving some pots from the chairs to make room, “They didn’t tell me your name, no one in the village seemed to know…”

“Caduceus Clay,” he smiled, gesturing for Molly to sit, “And I’m not surprised. I don’t venture there often and few people make it all the way out here. That’s how I like it.”

“Oh…” Molly sinks into an overstuffed, threadbare but comfortable chair, pulling Trinket free so he could get warm too. Thankfully, his crying had quietened to a sniffling. “I’m sorry. This is probably the last thing you need.”

The firbolg- Caduceus- shook his head, a slow, lolling motion. He took two cups out of a cupboard up above the stove, one that would have impossible for anyone but him to reach. As he did, the iron kettle began to whistle, its low murmuring climbing to a high, shrill shriek that sounded enough like Trinket’s crying that Molly’s chest felt tight. Caduceus brought it and the cups over, setting them down on the low table that the chairs vaguely clustered around, covered in clearly recently used gardening tools, shears and trowels and forks that all still had sod clinging to their prongs and handles worn thin with regular use.

“It’s my pleasure to help,” Caduceus hummed, pouring out a dark green coloured liquid into the cups, instantly filling the space with the scent of what Molly immediately recognised as jasmine and orange blossom tea.

That had been Marion’s favourite flavour; she’d always had a pot to hand whenever any of their close knit family of workers needed to talk or vent or just needed someone to listen to them. Mollymauk felt the prickling return to his eyes. He was so very tired.

“What seems to be wrong with your little boy?”

The question snapped Molly out of his memories and back to the present, back to the weight of Trinket in his arms, the tiny little hand that bunched in the front of his shirt pleadingly.

“It’s some kind of fever?” he pushed back the hair that had fallen over his baby’s eyes, “He coughs and wheezes and his temperature is high but he can’t seem to stop shivering. Any food, he brings it back up straight away, he’s not nursed in days…”

Caduceus nodded, his eyes turning from distant to sharply focused, staring at Mollymauk like nothing else existed. It made the tiefling shift awkwardly but he continued, the words spilling out of him now. A naturally talkative person, having no one to vent his worries to up until now had been nigh on torture.

“He won’t sleep, every time he tries he starts to cough and he can’t manage it. He’s already so small but now he’s losing so much weight when he should be gaining. His eyes run and his nose runs and…and he can hardly breathe…nothing’s worked, nothing at all…he looks at me like he wants me to help but I don’t know what to do…”

Suddenly, there was a source of warmth in his hand. Surprised, Molly blinked until the tears cleared away and saw one of the cups in his hand, tea softly steaming away, placed there by Caduceus. Obediently, he took a sip, nodding his thanks. Warmth spread through his chest and loosened the painful grip anxiety had placed on his muscles.

“May I?” the firbolg held out his hands for Trinket.

Molly bit his lip, his fingers not wanting to loosen. No stranger had held Trinket yet. Certainly not a pink hermit that seemed to talk to plants more than people. He knew how ridiculous it was, that he’d come here to get help, but still, he felt a crack run up through his heart as he shakily reached out and set Trinket in his arms. Immediately the little guy began to fuss and whimper, not liking this, not liking his daddy’s warm comfortable scent getting further and further away. Molly was a heartbeat away from snatching him back and clutching him to his chest, just getting up and running out of the door, storm or no. But Caduceus seemed to know exactly what to do, taking Trinket and bouncing him lightly in his hands, turning him and holding him in an odd configuration that Molly had never seen but somehow, as if by magic, he immediately quietened and settled and relaxed.

“How…” Molly’s eyes widened.

Caduceus smiled, shrugging, “It’s a good technique if you ever need to calm him.”

He began to examine Trinket, looking in his eyes, opening his mouth with a thumb to look inside, bringing him up to his voluminous ears to listen to his chest. Molly sat there, feeling his hands begin to shake, eyes darting from his son to this strange man, trying to follow his train of thought. The regretful head shakes and shrugs and baffles looks he’d been getting from everyone else he’d asked rose up in his mind, each one like a slap.

But Caduceus’ face smoothed out and he nodded, his frown disappearing, “Ah. I see. Yes…”

He handed Trinket back to Molly, standing and crossing over to the cabinet in the corner, pulling down bottles and a pestle and mortar.

“Wait…you see what?” Molly blinked, startled, “What’s wrong with him?”

Caduceus didn’t seem to hear him, now zigzagging around the cottage, pulling a leaf of that plant, a petal from the other, squeezing the seeds from the other. It all went into the mortar, along with a few drops from what seemed like six different bottles. He murmured the whole while, under his breath, like he’d entirely forgotten that Molly and Trinket were even there.

“Feverfew…yes, ginger, for the nausea…where’s the…ah, here, the ginseng…cranberry? Yes, may as well…vanilla, for the taste if nothing else…”

Everything was crushed into a paste, Molly craned his neck to see. Then it was strained, Caduceus pulling a square of muslin from seemingly nowhere, moving too fast now for him to really follow. For someone who’d seemed so dawdling and slow, he’d never have expected this flurry of sudden activity. It seemed like no time at all before Caduceus returned with every single leaf and plant he’d grabbed condensed down into a thick white liquid, contained within a bottle of amber coloured glass that turned the whole thing the warm colour of breakfast tea.

“What is actually wrong with my son? Can you help him?” Molly demanded, fear making him speak more sharply than he’d intended but Caduceus barely even blinked.

“Of course, I can. It’s a kidney infection.”

“Is that all?” Molly could scarcely believe it. No one in the whole town had been able to tell him what was wrong with his son and it was a simple infection?

Caduceus seemed to read his mind, voice gently, “He looks like a tiefling. No one would think he had a human infection.”

“Oh…” Molly’s ears drooped and his eyes cast down, “I…right…”

An uncomfortable silence settled over him but Caduceus seemed unaware, simply coming over and holding Trinket’s mouth open with a gentle hand. Three drops of the white liquid on his tiny pink rosebud of a tongue and that was all it took. Trinket pulls a face for a fraction of a second before deciding that, actually, he quite liked the taste and wanted a little more, opening his mouth and making his hungry little grunting sound Molly was so familiar with. He’d never ever heard a sweeter sound.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” he grinned, bending over him, cuddling him close, “Hello! Are we feeling better?”

Trinket chirped in response, eyes already seeming drier, voice stronger than it had been in days. He began to pat his hand on Molly’s chest, another sign that he was very eager for his dinner. Molly covered his face with kisses until he was chuckling, hugging him tighter than he’d dared to recently, relief a sweet taste on his tongue, sweet as vanilla.

“Thank you,” he sighed, looking up at Caduceus, over sipping his tea mildly, “I…I don’t know how to thank you enough…”

“It’s no trouble,” he shrugged, “Just give him three drops of that in the morning and the evening for two weeks and the infection will clear right up.”

Molly nodded, picking the bottle up from the table and tucking it into the inside pocket of his coat, handling it as if it were as precious as liquid gold, “How much do I owe you? For the medicine?” he asked, already doing calculations in his head to see where he could move his limited amount of money around to accommodate this.

“Nothing at all,” Caduceus replied firmly, “I don’t change for medicinal items. I so rarely get to give people genuine help, most people come out here for…recreational reasons.”

Molly’s eyes brightened in interest, “Well…as soon as this little guy’s on solid foods, I will absolutely be interested in that kind of stuff…speaking of which,” he indicated Trinket in his arms, still patting at his chest, “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” the firbolg shrugged, standing and taking his tea over to one of the cupboards.

Molly shrugged out of his coat and one shoulder of the loose shirt he wore specifically for this reason, pulling it down enough so he could put Trinket to his breast. He kicked and burbled happily before latching on, settling into his usual comfortable position, stroking his daddy’s collarbone contentedly. Molly smiled softly, putting his free hand over Trinket’s, squeezing gently.

“You know,” Caduceus called over, “I can very easily synthesise you a course of hormone replacement therapy if that’s something you’re ever interested in?”

Molly’s ears flicked up. He’d never heard that kind of thing referred to so casually and easily, certainly not in Foamside and not even really back in Zadash. He felt his heart get a little lighter.

“Not right now but…certainly, if you wouldn’t mind, later on?” he managed to tear his eyes away from his son, looking over to see Caduceus returning with a pillow and several folded blankets, his mug of tea balancing precariously atop it all, “Um…what are you doing?”

“You can’t walk all the way back to the village in this weather,” Caduceus said simply, as if the matter was already settled, “You and your son can stay here for the night and I’ll give you a lift back in the morning.”

“Oh…I…thank you, but that’s too much to ask of you, you’ve already done so much…”

“Nonsense,” Caduceus cut off his protests gently, already making up the bed on the longest chair, “The company has been very nice, actually. Consider this my thanks, very few people actually remember that I’m out here. Being able to help someone, meet someone new…it was very nice.”

Mollymauk let his protests die away, a soft smile replacing them, “Yeah. I feel the same, Mr Clay.”

The firbolg chuckled, a low, happy sound. Though he suddenly paused, blinking, “Oh…what’s your name, by the way?”

Stunned for a second that he’d forgotten such an important step, that he and Caduceus had been talking for so long and neither had realised the oversight, Molly began to laugh, soon joined by Caduceus.

“It’s Mollymauk Tealeaf. You can call me Molly. And this is my son, Trinket. It’s very nice to meet you, friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to check out my Tumblr, @mollymauk-teafleak where I post CR stuff as well as TAZ, Hamilton and AADDTSOTU


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